


Everything She Needs

by brioscotty



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brioscotty/pseuds/brioscotty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inadvertant prompt from nerdmoose - waiting for concert. Rachel and Quinn celebrate the latter's 25th birthday. Cue a loudmouth friend to ruin it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything She Needs

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine. Just a little drabble thing that I couldn't get out of my head.

One of the only things you hate about being Quinn Fabray’s girlfriend is how impossible it is to buy presents for her. You dread every birthday, Christmas, Hanukkah, Valentine’s Day, anniversary and any other event that requires some sort of gift. You ask for hints and she offers none, claiming that she has everything she needs. 

Nothing ever seems to match up to the gifts she gets you, things that you might mention in passing once and forget all about only to receive it on the next gift-giving day or things that you weren’t even aware that you needed or wanted. 

One day, she throws you a lifeline. Arriving home from a long day of rehearsals, she greets you with a glass of wine, homemade tortellini and candles burning on every available surface in your open-plan living space. The sound system in the corner of the room is playing something mellow and haunting. You question her about the band and she lights up as she slides two plates onto the dining table, saying that she’s already downloaded three albums and they may well be her new muse. 

You mentally note their name and, as soon as you have a free moment, sign up to a mailing list for details about upcoming concerts. A few weeks before Quinn’s twenty-fifth birthday, you receive an email and rejoice: they’re playing in New York in a couple of months. Two tickets are slotted into Quinn’s birthday card and your girlfriend is genuinely shocked when she opens the envelope, declaring it to be one of the best presents she’s ever received.

It isn’t until you join the queue outside the club that you realise you’ve given Quinn a pretty rubbish birthday present. The success of your last show coupled with your appearance in the latest Hollywood movie musical means that being recognised is now becoming a daily occurrence. Your last attempt at a romantic evening out was abandoned after you’d both been followed from the parking lot to the restaurant and then onto the cinema down the street. 

Halfway through the film, the whispering behind you had become so intense that you’d stalked out, leaving Quinn behind. She’d found you standing at the doors, peering out at the waiting cameras, and taken your arm.

“Don’t worry,” she’d said, steering you outside past the pack of flashing cameras. Back in your car, she’d given you a smile. “They’ll leave you alone when they find out how boring you are.”

“Gee, thanks,” you’d replied with a laugh.

It’s been months since that initial encounter with the paparazzi and you’ve kept all attempts to have some sort of normal social life as secret as possible. Cinema dates are few and far between, nights out with large groups of friends are a little less challenging because you can blend in with the crowd a little easier. Intimate gigs are, so far, uncharted waters. 

You keep close to Quinn, never letting your grasp on her waist waver or your gaze meet anyone else’s. You’ve tied your hair up, put on glasses and, since winter has firmly grasped New York in its icy hands, bundled yourself up in a hat and scarf. 

“You look nervous,” Quinn notes quietly.

“I don’t want to ruin your birthday,” you reply, snuggling in closer to her. 

“My birthday nearly did ruin me,” she grins, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. You feel heat rush to your cheeks and it causes her to smile even more. “I don’t remember you being so shy that night.”

“Mean,” you mutter, letting your eyes drift shut as her lips press to yours more forcefully. 

“Do we have dinner plans after this?” she asks, far too nonchalant considering the beating she’s just given your nervous system. 

“Nothing hard and fast,” you whisper, biting down on your bottom lip as you watch her exhale, her breath rising visibly between you. She contemplates this in silence for a minute or so. 

“I fully intend to take as much time as physically possible warming you up,” she all but growls in your ear. A solitary whimper is all you can manage in response. By the time your brain is done processing the many ways Quinn can heat you up, the moment has gone and you’re interrupted by a passer-by anyway.

“Quinn?” the voice causes both of you to turn to face its owner. “I thought it was you. Hey!” 

You don’t recognise the girl but Quinn disentangles herself from you to greet her. You keep your head ducked, feeling exposed. They chat briefly before Quinn remembers her manners and introduces you as her girlfriend, something that never fails to make your heart sing with joy.

“Rach, this is Regan,” Quinn is saying and you’re forced to look up. “We competed against each other at college. Do you still play?” 

“Yeah,” Regan replies, her gaze constantly whipping back to you. She knows you from somewhere. You can virtually see the clogs in her head spinning into place. “Saturday league. Give me your number and I’ll talk to the organisers, see if there are any teams with open spots.” 

“That would be great,” Quinn says, sliding her arm around your waist again after she’s saved her number in Regan’s phone. “Well, I’ll see you around sometime? Maybe on the soccer pitch again if I can get myself back into shape.” 

“Sure,” Regan nods, catching your eye again. “You’re Rachel Berry, right?”

Tight-lipped, you nod curtly and she grins.

“Damn, I knew I’d seen your face before. You’re in that film with Meryl Streep and that guy who played Wolverine,” she says far too loudly. Faces are being turned in your direction; you can practically hear phones being pulled from pockets. Tweets and texts are being sent, Facebook statuses are being updated and photos are being uploaded to Instagram. So much for a quiet night out. 

Quinn steps away from you to whisper something in Regan’s ear and within seconds, the other girl is making excuses and heading off down the street. 

“What did you say to her?” you ask, desperately trying to ignore the whispers around you. 

“That I’d get her a couple of signed photos if she walked away without saying another word to you,” Quinn says, wrapping you up in her arms again. “When are they going to open the doors for this thing?”

“Should be soon,” you glance at your watch. “It’s a little before nine.” 

As if by magic, the queue starts to move and everyone seems to jam closer together in the hope of getting inside, away from the cold, that little bit sooner. Quinn produces the tickets for the doorman who passes them back without so much as a second glance at either of them. At the far side of the club, there’s a free table next to one of the exits. You make a beeline for it, pulling Quinn along behind you. The view of the stage isn’t fantastic but at least you should be able to make a hasty departure if you need to.

“Drink?” Quinn asks, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the back of her chair. 

“A double of whatever you usually buy me,” you reply. Off Quinn’s look, you roll your eyes. “I need something to warm me up.”

“I’ll see if they have a blanket behind the bar, Grandma,” she gives you a wink and trots off to the back of the club where a queue has now formed for the bar. You pull out your phone with no real purpose other than the hope that if you look busy enough, people might leave you alone.

No such luck.

“Excuse me, um, Rachel? I mean, Ms Berry.” 

You glance up, plastering a smile onto your face.

“I was wondering if it would be okay to maybe get a photo with you?” the girl stammers out. “You’re one of my favourite Broadway actresses.”

Wondering who her other favourite actresses are, you nod consent and stand up to allow the girl to take her photo.

“Thank you so much,” she effuses gratefully before backing away from the table. No-one else approaches until Quinn has arrived back, a tray of four glasses in her hands. 

“I’m not going up there again, so make them last,” she says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Another fan comes up to the table, bolder than the last, demanding a photo and an autograph. “Maybe you could a little more nicely and Ms Berry will consider it.”

“Quinn,” you say warningly, placing a hand on her arm. “It’s fine.”

Quinn remains silent while the fan is at the table then moves in closer as soon as she’s gone. 

“It isn’t fine,” she whispers. “You shouldn’t have to have cameras in your face all the time whenever we go out. You shouldn’t have to be scared about who might see you if you go on a midnight run to that vegan burger place down the block. Every day, I have to watch you become less of who you are in order to please everyone else and I hate it. Because the Rachel I fell in love with likes to curse and is unashamedly bold and says no when she doesn’t want people bugging her.”

“This isn’t the time,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no-one is listening. “And it isn’t my fault. You were the one who was recognised. Not me. For once. We’d be sitting in peace if it wasn’t for your loudmouth friend.” 

She mulls this over as the lights dim. The crowd whistle and cheer for the band taking the stage and Quinn puts an arm around your shoulders. 

“We’re not done with this,” she mutters in your ear. You don’t respond, you don’t need a fight right now. 

As soon as the band finish, you’re both on your feet and heading for the exit. There are a few cameras waiting for you, flashes of blinding light causing you to stumble slightly. Quinn pulls you upright before pushing a photographer out of the way. 

“Move it,” she utters irritably. You keep your head down and walk quickly to the end of the block, Quinn in tow. She hails a taxi and you speed away from the club towards your apartment. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” you exhale tiredly, her words from earlier playing on your mind. You have been letting everyone else dictate your life and the way you have to live it far too much lately. “You were right before.”

“It doesn’t feel like much a victory,” she shrugs, glancing out at the streets whizzing by. 

“Fuck it,” you say, knocking on the window separating you from the driver. “Pull over here. It’s my girlfriend’s birthday night out and we’re going to eat some damn fast food and if anyone comes near us while we’re sitting in that booth in McDonald’s, I’ll bite their fucking heads off.”

Quinn stares at you in amazement before jumping out of the car. The taxi speeds off leaving you both illuminated by the grotesque lighting of her favourite fast food restaurant. 

“Better?” you ask her, snaking arms around her waist and pulling her close for a deep kiss. 

“Fuck yes,” she grins, pecking your lips once more. 

“Happy birthday,” you whisper, tucking yourself under her arm as you head inside. 

“Best belated birthday ever!” she replies, skipping towards the counter.


End file.
